Wait for the Sunrise
by Vané Alasse
Chapter Six
Hopeless
Falath woke from sleep and glanced around the room, striving to remember where she was.
All around the room wounded men and women were laid on beds. The room was crowded. Groans and the sound of heavy breathing filled the air. Soft commotion could be heard from a distance away. Men and women dressed in white and grey walked calmly around the injured, aiding them in every way possible.
Then she remembered. The events of the last hours flooded her memory. Her head began to ache again, and her back was sore from lying on the ground.
Somehow lying still was difficult. Perhaps walking would calm her mind. Slowly she rose to her feet.
Falath began to wander aimlessly through the rooms. She stepped carefully around the wounded, trying not to look at the faces. But some eyes were unavoidable. They were cold as ice and glared with a frozen intensity. These faces were white and their bodies were racked by sudden bouts of shivering. Many suffered from this ailment.
Falath was numb and cold in spirit, and could not hush the bitter nagging voice in her head which blandly said, "Gondor will fall." Her father and brother were dead, killed by the malice of the dark lord. Doubtless her sister and mother had not reached the security of the third level, if it was yet a stronghold. She was now alone.
Finding a door leading outside Falath stepped into the open air. A cold wind splashed against her face, bringing moisture to her eyes. Lightly she stepped along the porch. A staircase lead downward and she took it. Her feet made little noise as she moved from one step to the next, and her fingertips brushed against the cool rock banister.
At the bottom of the steps lay a garden. The bushes and trees swayed mournfully in the chill wind. The branches and leaves rustled in a lonely commotion.
Behind her Falath heard a voice say her name. She turned.
Linanor was walking through the rows of swaying plants. He smiled.
"You are awake?"
Falath nodded.
Linanor stopped beside Falath and looked out over the city and the fields beyond. The wind tossed his hair.
"It has been a long time," he said.
"What?" asked Falath.
"A long battle, a long war. And still the shadow holds sway. I wish we had ships to flee from this storm, as they did long ago."
"Yet Numenor was consumed by the waves, and but a few survived in their ships," replied Falath.
Linanor looked at her. "Yes, that is so. And so will Gondor be consumed if help does not quickly come."
"There will be no survivors this time," whispered Falath.
Her face was pale and her eyes cold as she spoke. She did not make any movement, but her skirt whipped around her legs and her dark hair rippled behind her in the gusts of wind.
"Do not despair, Falath," said Linanor. "Help may yet come."
She did not answer. It seemed hopeless to her. She had endured the torture of siege and experienced the gnawing of rampant fear. The cruel workings of the generation of hatred bred by the foul tyrant of the east were yet very present. The fallen maia would not be fool enough to suffer the men of the West a victory. Even if they could defeat the foes before them, it would be a short-lived conquest. Surely Sauron's visible armies, though enough to make an end for the people of Elendil, were but a taste of the masses lurking behind the mountains of ash. True victory was impossible. The battle was folly. Men were throwing their lives away on a campaign that must surely fail. There was no hope now.
"Linanor, you are requested inside," called a voice.
Falath's gaze turned to the stairs. There stood Mellonel, motioning for Linanor to follow him.
"The warden wishes to speak to you, and you, Falath," said Mellonel.
She followed Linanor up the stairs, methodically counting each step. All seemed grey. Dry leaves scuffled on the bare steps and swirled in little eddies. They crunched under Linanor's feet. To her they resembled the remnants of of Gondor beaten to dust. The crackling pieces of leaves were caught by the wind and carried away, just as the last people of Gondor would vanish.
Once inside the house they were met by the warden. Though his facial expression was worried, he spoke in a low, calm voice.
"Linanor, messengers have arrived saying we are to make ready a birth for our lord Faramir. He is returning from the Rath Dínen, where they say he has been saved from an untimely demise."
Linanor looked at the warden suspiciously. "I had heard the lord Faramir was ill. Has his condition worsened?"
"You refer to my last statement?"
Linanor nodded.
"Not his illness; no. What shall I say? He was thrust before death's grasp and drawn back from thence by a merciful hand. And further, though I am not at liberty to express the reasons surrounding the matter, our captain is now also our steward."
Falath drew a quick breath.
"Lord Denethor is dead?" asked Linanor in a low voice.
"I am afraid it is so," returned the warden.
"Who accompanies the bier?"
"Mithrandir, though do not let it be generally known. Also the perian from the north. He has played a valiant role in the rescue of our lord."
"You play at riddles, my lord warden. Can you not speak more plainly?" asked Linanor.
The warden smiled, then his face relaxed into its customary anxiousness. "Not here; not now. But you will not need to wait long to have your answers. They will be here shortly after dawn, if such a time exists in this hateful gloom. Make haste in your preparations."
Linanor nodded and walked resolutely from the room with Mellonel.
The warden turned his attention to Falath.
"Linanor has told me he found you in the second circle of the city. Are you injured?"
"No, my lord," she replied.
"What is your name?"
"Falath, sir."
"Falath? Indeed? Who is your father?"
Her voice came very softly. "Eärnur, son of Eärathor. But he did not return from the battle to reclaim Osgiliath."
He nodded slightly, his face grim and his eyes troubled. Falath watched him closely. He seemed to be deep in thought. Suddenly his eyes turned to hers and he nodded resolutely.
"My sympathies, Falath."
The lines of his face formed into a tired smile. "I may have news for you that is not sad. Follow me."
by Vané Alasse
Chapter Six
Hopeless
Falath woke from sleep and glanced around the room, striving to remember where she was.
All around the room wounded men and women were laid on beds. The room was crowded. Groans and the sound of heavy breathing filled the air. Soft commotion could be heard from a distance away. Men and women dressed in white and grey walked calmly around the injured, aiding them in every way possible.
Then she remembered. The events of the last hours flooded her memory. Her head began to ache again, and her back was sore from lying on the ground.
Somehow lying still was difficult. Perhaps walking would calm her mind. Slowly she rose to her feet.
Falath began to wander aimlessly through the rooms. She stepped carefully around the wounded, trying not to look at the faces. But some eyes were unavoidable. They were cold as ice and glared with a frozen intensity. These faces were white and their bodies were racked by sudden bouts of shivering. Many suffered from this ailment.
Falath was numb and cold in spirit, and could not hush the bitter nagging voice in her head which blandly said, "Gondor will fall." Her father and brother were dead, killed by the malice of the dark lord. Doubtless her sister and mother had not reached the security of the third level, if it was yet a stronghold. She was now alone.
Finding a door leading outside Falath stepped into the open air. A cold wind splashed against her face, bringing moisture to her eyes. Lightly she stepped along the porch. A staircase lead downward and she took it. Her feet made little noise as she moved from one step to the next, and her fingertips brushed against the cool rock banister.
At the bottom of the steps lay a garden. The bushes and trees swayed mournfully in the chill wind. The branches and leaves rustled in a lonely commotion.
Behind her Falath heard a voice say her name. She turned.
Linanor was walking through the rows of swaying plants. He smiled.
"You are awake?"
Falath nodded.
Linanor stopped beside Falath and looked out over the city and the fields beyond. The wind tossed his hair.
"It has been a long time," he said.
"What?" asked Falath.
"A long battle, a long war. And still the shadow holds sway. I wish we had ships to flee from this storm, as they did long ago."
"Yet Numenor was consumed by the waves, and but a few survived in their ships," replied Falath.
Linanor looked at her. "Yes, that is so. And so will Gondor be consumed if help does not quickly come."
"There will be no survivors this time," whispered Falath.
Her face was pale and her eyes cold as she spoke. She did not make any movement, but her skirt whipped around her legs and her dark hair rippled behind her in the gusts of wind.
"Do not despair, Falath," said Linanor. "Help may yet come."
She did not answer. It seemed hopeless to her. She had endured the torture of siege and experienced the gnawing of rampant fear. The cruel workings of the generation of hatred bred by the foul tyrant of the east were yet very present. The fallen maia would not be fool enough to suffer the men of the West a victory. Even if they could defeat the foes before them, it would be a short-lived conquest. Surely Sauron's visible armies, though enough to make an end for the people of Elendil, were but a taste of the masses lurking behind the mountains of ash. True victory was impossible. The battle was folly. Men were throwing their lives away on a campaign that must surely fail. There was no hope now.
"Linanor, you are requested inside," called a voice.
Falath's gaze turned to the stairs. There stood Mellonel, motioning for Linanor to follow him.
"The warden wishes to speak to you, and you, Falath," said Mellonel.
She followed Linanor up the stairs, methodically counting each step. All seemed grey. Dry leaves scuffled on the bare steps and swirled in little eddies. They crunched under Linanor's feet. To her they resembled the remnants of of Gondor beaten to dust. The crackling pieces of leaves were caught by the wind and carried away, just as the last people of Gondor would vanish.
Once inside the house they were met by the warden. Though his facial expression was worried, he spoke in a low, calm voice.
"Linanor, messengers have arrived saying we are to make ready a birth for our lord Faramir. He is returning from the Rath Dínen, where they say he has been saved from an untimely demise."
Linanor looked at the warden suspiciously. "I had heard the lord Faramir was ill. Has his condition worsened?"
"You refer to my last statement?"
Linanor nodded.
"Not his illness; no. What shall I say? He was thrust before death's grasp and drawn back from thence by a merciful hand. And further, though I am not at liberty to express the reasons surrounding the matter, our captain is now also our steward."
Falath drew a quick breath.
"Lord Denethor is dead?" asked Linanor in a low voice.
"I am afraid it is so," returned the warden.
"Who accompanies the bier?"
"Mithrandir, though do not let it be generally known. Also the perian from the north. He has played a valiant role in the rescue of our lord."
"You play at riddles, my lord warden. Can you not speak more plainly?" asked Linanor.
The warden smiled, then his face relaxed into its customary anxiousness. "Not here; not now. But you will not need to wait long to have your answers. They will be here shortly after dawn, if such a time exists in this hateful gloom. Make haste in your preparations."
Linanor nodded and walked resolutely from the room with Mellonel.
The warden turned his attention to Falath.
"Linanor has told me he found you in the second circle of the city. Are you injured?"
"No, my lord," she replied.
"What is your name?"
"Falath, sir."
"Falath? Indeed? Who is your father?"
Her voice came very softly. "Eärnur, son of Eärathor. But he did not return from the battle to reclaim Osgiliath."
He nodded slightly, his face grim and his eyes troubled. Falath watched him closely. He seemed to be deep in thought. Suddenly his eyes turned to hers and he nodded resolutely.
"My sympathies, Falath."
The lines of his face formed into a tired smile. "I may have news for you that is not sad. Follow me."